


24-Hour Coffeeshop

by Curstaidh_MacIntyre



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Gen, Revised Version, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-30
Updated: 2018-10-28
Packaged: 2019-01-07 01:11:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12222714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Curstaidh_MacIntyre/pseuds/Curstaidh_MacIntyre
Summary: Revision of "24-Hour Coffee Shop"Tauriel is recently out of the Guard and she is floundering. She is working as the technology systems manager at a local middle school, but she is not moving forward. She is stuck in the past and something needs to change. She gets coffee at a local coffeeshop before heading into work.Bard is a single father whose friends have been harassing him about getting out and meeting new people. He works at Erebor University and there is only one coffeeshop within walking distance that isn't crowded with undergrads.





	1. Chapter 1: Tauriel (Completely New)

**Author's Note:**

> Lots of minor changes are happening. There were details that were being difficult and I didn’t want to ruin the internal consistency of the story. As it is details in this chapter will not correspond with later chapters, but that will be fixed. Be on the lookout for the new and improved versions.

“You can come to the door you know,” Tauriel grumbles when she opens the door of her cousin’s jeep. “You don’t have to just sit here and honk your horn until I figure out that it’s you and come outside.”

Legolas shrugs. “I never said that I wasn’t lazy.”

Tauriel rolls her eyes and slams the door.

“Hey! Gentle with the machinery,” Legolas admonishes. “I don’t want you breaking the window. If it’s not rolled up all the way it can happen.”

“It is just a car door,” Tauriel counters. “Does it matter that much to you?” When she sees his incredulous face — his eyes wide — she adds, “If I break it, I’ll pay for it.”

“That’s not the point,” Legolas sighs long-sufferingly.

“Then what is the point?”

“Just don’t break my car, please,” Legolas pleads as he puts the car in drive.

Tauriel buckles her seatbelt. “Is anyone else going to be there tonight?”

“Uh…” Legolas thinks aloud; buying himself some time. He stops at a stop sign and looks around. He does not finish his thought until he is back up to speed. “No.”

“It’s just going to be me, you, and ada?” Tauriel frowns.

Legolas answer without taking his eyes from the road. “That’s what it looks like.”

“Why didn’t you tell me that earlier?” Tauriel demands.

“Because you would have found some reason not to come.” Legolas glances in her direction. “If it’s just me and ada we just end up staring at one another. He asks me what I’m going to do with my life. I tell him I want to work in wildlife preservation. He asks me if I’m going to spend my entire life living in his house. I tell him that that’s the plan, because if I left I would have to learn how to cook and clean up after myself. From there the meal turns into a staring contest.”

“I think you’re exaggerating for effect,” Tauriel accuses as she stares out the window at the windy moors. The heather is brown and stiff after the long dry months of summer.

“I promise that I am not exaggerating. That was how family dinners went most of the time while you were in the Guard. And if there was anyone else it was usually just Uncle Elrond, because our cousins were away at college, or, in Arwen’s case, spending time with her grandparents on the other side of the country.”

Tauriel crosses her arms. “It couldn’t have been that bad.”

“You must believe that it could have been that bad, because you don’t want to come to one when there will be the three of us.”

Tauriel scowls out the window. “You’re just being a wuss.”

“And you’re just being dramatic,” Legolas accuses.

After that the two ride in silence until they come to a stop in the driveway in front of Thranduil’s manor.

“Do you know what’s for dinner, at least?”

“I have no idea. He didn’t send me to the store this time.”

“Fine. Let’s hope that he hasn’t been watching to the foreign cooking channel. He always gets too creative with his spices when that happens.”

“You have no idea,” Legolas groans. “He was on a curry streak for weeks while you were away. As long as it isn’t curry then I’ll be happy.”

 

— —

 

“Tauriel, have you thought about what I said last week?” Thranduil asks after all the food has been served.

“Which thing?” Tauriel asks even though she knows full well which thing that Thranduil is referring to. He had called her up several times last week to talk about it. She had actually started letting his calls go to voicemail just so that she would not have to talk about it.

“College,” Thranduil says shortly. “Or do you intend to work in that office for the rest of your life?”

“For the moment, I am okay working in that office,” Tauriel lies. “I do not want to do it forever, but I have not thought about what else I might want to do.”

“Hmph,” Thranduil grumbles. “You should at least take some classes. You could find out what you want to do while knocking out some of those … what are they called? … Prerequisites … No …”

“Gen eds?” Legolas offers.

Thranduil snaps his fingers. “Yes! Those. You could figure out what you want to do while taking care of some of the gen-eds.” His eyes flash with excitement. “There is still time to get you enrolled for the fall semester at Erebor University. You could finally get on the right track.”

“Are you saying that I am on the wrong track because I joined the Guard?” Tauriel snaps; her grip tightens on her fork.

“Of course not,” Thranduil replies calmly as he carefully cuts his steak. “But that is over now and it time to start working on something new.”

“My job is something new.” Tauriel replies shortly. "I've only been there for a few months."

Thranduil corrects himself, “Something new and worthwhile.”

“What constitutes "worthwhile"?” Tauriel asks. “I get paid for my work. I think that that makes it worthwhile.”

Thranduil’s thick eyebrows knit together in consternation. “Something that you want to do. Something that uses your potential.” He looks at her — his gaze is level and steady. “If I thought that all you were capable of contributing to the world was whatever-it-is-that-you-do at that office then I wouldn’t keep pestering you. But I think that you can do so much more than that. I think you can do so much more than you did when you were in the Guard. I know. I know. The Guard provided you with the training that allows you to excel at your current job. But they did not train you for anything else, anything better.

You’re 25 now. It’s time to stop being rebellious just for the sake of being rebellious.” Thranduil admonishes.

Tauriel’s palms ache where she was digging her nails into them. “I am fine with what I am doing right now,” she bites out. "If that changes I will let you know."

“I know. But how will you feel in 6 months? A year? Several years? I don’t want you to become tired of being mediocre and have nothing to turn to. If you take some classes, even if it's only on a part-time basis, you will be moving forward, past your time in the Guard, past everything. Those classes could mean that in 2 years when you finally have picked a path in life that you will only have 2 years before you can move into that field rather than the full 4 years.”

“How about I cross that bridge when I come to it?”

“But if there is no bridge you won’t be able to cross it, will you?” Thranduil counters. “Plus, that money the Guard supplies for tuition, doesn’t that have a “redeem by” date?”

“I don’t know,” Tauriel replies shortly in an attempt to bring the topic to a close.

“I just want to you think about it,” Thranduil says calmly. “And maybe you should listen to me this time. I gave in and signed the papers when you wanted to join the Guard even though I did not think it was best, and we all know how that turned out.”

The meal proceeds in silence until Legolas brings up the football match, the Minis Tirith Stars vs. the Misty Mountain Orcs.

Legolas shrugs when Tauriel catches his eye. “What can you do?” He mouths silently.

Tauriel kicks him under the table — hard.

 

— —

 

After dinner Tauriel helped Thranduil clean up the kitchen. He seemed content to leave the topic of college alone until a later date. He ended up raving about a book he had just finished reading while Tauriel only half-listened. Despite her inattention she found herself tucking a copy of the book into her back and promising Thranduil that she would read it and let him know what she thinks about it as she is walking out the door.

“See that wasn’t so bad,” Legolas says as the climb into his car in the last summer evening dusk.

“It was that bad.”

“Really? I thought it went pretty well. I was expecting you two to yell at each other, to be honest. I thought it may have ended like your “conversations” about the Guard did when we were in high school.”

“I guess it wasn’t as bad as that,” Tauriel acquiesces.

Night has completely fallen before either of them speaks again.

“Do you want me to take you home?” Legolas asks. “Or do you want to do something fun.”

“Just take me home, please, Legs,” Tauriel says quietly. “I’m tired and I have to be to work early tomorrow morning.”

“Are you sure that you can’t do one drink?” Legolas pleads. The Durin’s are finished up coursework for classes they’re taking over the summer. They don’t have time to come drinking with me.”

Tauriel chuckles. “I’m sure that if you asked Fili would join you.”

“I know. But he blamed me when he failed that Elvish class last fall after I got him to go out with me.”

Tauriel smiles and leans her head against the glass window. “Maybe next time, Legs. Saturday?”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

“I’m not making any promises. It might just have to be some wine at my place.”

“That counts.”

 

— —

 

Tauriel unlocks the grey door that lets her into her home. She was lucky enough to end up renting the last house in the row, and her only neighbors were rarely home and quiet when they were.

She locks the door behind her and drops her keys on the hallway table. She navigates the house in darkness as she makes her way to the second floor to her bedroom. The street lights filter in through the curtains and soften all the hard edges in the room. She turns on the lamp besides her bed, picks up the book she had been reading, and lays on top of the covers.

She lays the book aside after she reads the same sentence for the fifth time. Tauriel was trying to focus on the book, but her thoughts kept wandering. Tucking her hands behind her head she thinks about what her uncle said at dinner. Maybe he was right, maybe she should take some classes. Working as Tech Support at Long Lake High School was alright, but it was not exciting and she definitely did not want to be cleaning pop out of keyboards and running virus scans to eradicate Trojan viruses in a decade. She had spent a year doing it, and it was already getting a bit old.

On the other hand, after the Guard and the events that took place, the monotony, the predictability, and the quiet were a nice change of pace. She was keeping her head down and it was working pretty well so far. She liked keeping to herself and not drawing attention to herself. She had been doing the opposite for far too long.

Tauriel sighs and watches the headlights of cars dance across her ceiling as they drive past.  She does agree with Thranduil on one point — something needs to change.


	2. Chapter 2: Bard (Completely New)

Bard stretches his legs out in front of him and drops his head back against the bench. He sighs in relief and flexes the muscles in his legs all the way down to his toes. The heat wave that had been plaguing the region for the past few weeks had finally broken. The summer had been cool and dry and it had not gotten hot until September, and the heat had been unrelenting for weeks. Today though, today it was nice. He was not sweating through his button-down and blazer. The soft, cool breeze ruffles his hair while the southerly sun pleasantly warms his face. He frowns when something nudges his foot.  
   
“Are you avoiding your students?” Bilbo asks.  
   
“No.” Bard does not open his eyes. “I sent them an email saying that I was cancelling my office hours because one of my children was sick.”  
   
Bilbo moves Bard’s backpack to the ground and sits down on the bench. “Lying to your students,” he chides clicking his tongue. “What would Gandalf say?” referring to the History department’s head.  
   
“What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.” Bard replies pleasantly. “I couldn’t face the prospect of spending 3 hours answering questions that students would not be asking if they bothered to show up to class.”  
   
“Are you already regretting not having an attendance requirement?”  
   
Bard lifts his head and opens his eyes, peering out at the green quad through the spots the sun had left on his eyes. “Not yet. I might by the end of the semester. It might end up being a choice between the lesser to two evils: students possibly lying about being sick, having a sick relative, or having to attend a funeral, or repeating segments of the lectures for 3 hours every Monday and Wednesday.”  
   
“Let me know how that goes. I might end up trying it for my sections of English 101 in the future. I’d have to come up with some other version of easy points though.”  
   
“Hmm…” Bard closes his eyes again and the pair sit in silence for a few minutes.  
   
Bilbo breaks the silence. "Frodo keeps bugging me about a sleepover with Bain."  
   
"That's fine. When would work for you."  
   
"I'm doing the carpool to and from soccer practice on Friday. I could just take Bain home with us afterwards."  
   
"That sounds good to me." Bard sits up and runs stiff fingers through his hair. “Tilda and Sigrid are having a sleepover at my parent’s house that night. My mother promised them a cookie decorating extravaganza.  
   
“I’ll be looking forward to a quiet evening by myself.”  
   
“Maybe you could spend the evening not by yourself,” Bilbo suggests, with no subtlety.  
   
“Please don’t set me up with another one of your cousins…” Bard pleads.  
   
“I wasn’t think that. I get an earful from Asphodel every time I see her; all she talks about is how terrible it was…”  
   
“Because it was a truly terrible date!” Bard interrupts.   
   
Bilbo groans. “I know.  
   
“I just meant that maybe it’s time for you to start thinking about yourself again.”  
   
“But…” Bard starts to interject.  
   
“ ‘But the kids!’ I know,” Bilbo continues. “Obviously they take precedent. But you could think about yourself a little bit. You could go on dates that I don’t bully you into. Tilda is 7 now. She’s in school full-time. Soon they’ll all need you a lot less — or so I’m told — and you should have some sort of personal life before it reaches that point.”   
   
Bard frowns. “Maybe,” he grumbles after a long moment.  
   
“Just something to think about.   
   
“Well, I have to get going. If I’m not there right at 2:40 my students will start leaving because they assume that class is cancelled,” Bilbo says as he rises to his feet and slings his messenger bag over his shoulder.   
   
Bard nods and watches his friend walk away. After Bilbo disappears around a corner Bard turns back to the green and watches the students walk past. The calm is now shattered, and his thoughts are no longer quiet. He tries to quiet his thoughts, but when that fails he too rises, grabs his backpack, and heads towards the parking lot. Might as well spend the afternoon with his kids if he is going to skip out on his office hours.

  
   
— — —   
 

  
"Sig! You need to clear off the table," Bard shouts up the stairs. There is no answer. "I know you can hear me!" He frowns. He starts climbing the stairs.   
   
His relaxing afternoon had not turned out how he wanted. Bain and Sigrid had spent much of the afternoon bickering over what television show to watch. When Bain had finally given up and had gone outside to play his sister had followed him so she could continue to boss him around. The bickering had devolved into a physical altercation when Bain kicked a soccer ball at his sister's head. Sigrid had tried to pretend that she was innocent and Bain was being mean to her for no reason. He had sent both of them to their rooms until dinner was ready. Both had grumbled and pouted, but by dinnertime Bain was cheerful enough—he had apologized without being prompted—but Sigrid was still upset. She had picked at her food and scowled during the whole meal. As soon as she got up from the table she had disappeared to her bedroom even though she had chores to do. And now, he was going to have to extract her from her room. After completing her chores she would be allowed to retreat to her room. He would not force her to spend time with the family. He pauses outside her closed bedroom door. There is a new sign taped to her door amid drawings and art projects: "Keep Out" is written in angry, red letters, stands out against the pastel colors of blue and green. He briefly considers just cleaning up the kitchen himself just so that the does not have to have this confrontation that is promising to be unpleasant.  
   
He sighs and knocks on the door. "Sig?" When there is no answer he pushes the door. "Sigrid, we need to talk about this."  
   
She just scowls at him. She is laying on her bed and staring at the wall.  
   
Bard approaches her and sits on the edge of her bed. She promptly sits up and moves to the   
head of the bed to lean against her pillows. She hugs one to her chest.  
   
"Sig . . ."  
   
"What?" Sigrid mumbles in the pillow. She continues to stare at the wall. Walls that are still pale pink, a pink that her mother had spent hours choosing. Bard had thought that any pink would do, but Beth had insisted that it needed to be perfect. She had chosen “Dusty Rose.” Sigrid had asked to paint her room, but Bard had said no, that part of Beth still lingered and he liked remembering watching her laid out on the floor of their apartment surrounded by paint samples as she carefully selected the colors for the house that they hadn’t even closed on yet.  
   
"You can't keep behaving like this. You need to be nicer to your brother. He's allowed to picked things to watch and he's allowed to play however he wants as long as no one is getting hurt."  
   
"He's annoying. I don't want to watch his stupid shows."  
   
"He can be annoying, but you can't boss him around all the time."  
   
"The shows he wants to watch are stupid," she grumbles.  
   
"Do we need to use the remote schedule again?"  
   
"No…"  
   
“How can we prevent this from happening again?”  
   
Sigrid presses her face into her pillow. “If I had my own TV we wouldn’t fight.”  
   
“Is there anything else besides that? We’ve had that conversation and I haven’t changed my mind.”  
   
Sigrid looks away from her father. “I don’t know,” she mumbles. She turns her head to look at her father, “Maybe the remote schedule could work . . . Can I at least have it after school on Thursdays?”  
   
“I think we can make that work,” Bard smiles. “But only as long as you do your chores.”   
   
Sigrid tosses her pillow down on the bed when she gets up. “Fine.” She stalks out of the bedroom and stomps her way down the stairs.  
   
Bard shakes his head and slowly rises to his feet. Before leaving the room, he pauses to straighten the picture of Sigrid and Beth where it sits on Sigrid’s bedside table.   
 

  
-

  
   
Bard scribbles out a check mark and circles the correct answer on a quiz. It is the fifth wrong answer that he has marked correct since some late-night show had started. The host is interviewing some celebrity that Bard does not recognize. The quizzes still to be graded rest on his knee. He puts the cap on his green pen before dropping it on the end table. He rubs his eyes. The beginnings of a pounding headache is making itself known behind his eyes. He stares blankly at the quizzes. He had wanted to finish grading tonight. The flickering television light is all that lights the room.  
   
“Da?” Tilda’s voice interrupts Bard’s thoughts.   
   
He turns his head. “Hey there, pumpkin. Can’t sleep?”  
   
Tilda shakes her head. A stuffed bear dangles from her fingers, his head brushing against the floor.   
   
“Come, sit next to me,” Bard pats the empty couch cushion next to him. He shifts the graded and ungraded quizzes to the floor.  
   
Tilda climbs onto the couch and, using her bear as a pillow, she rests her head on Bard’s thigh. Bard pulls the blanket from the back of the couch down and tucks it around Tilda.   
   
“Why can’t you sleep? Is Bain snoring again?”  
   
Tilda shakes her head.  
   
“Are there monsters under your bed?”  
   
“No…” Tilda answers, “There are no such things as monsters.”   
   
“Why are you awake then? Are you a vampire now?”  
   
“Daaadd…”  
   
“Well?”  
   
“I had a nightmare,” Tilda says quickly.  
   
“Do you want to tell me about it?”  
   
Tilda shakes her head, “No.” She presses her face into her bear and pulls the blanket closer.  
   
Bard hums and rests his hand on her head.   
   
The late-night show gives way to another, this one more ridiculous than the last. Bard is only watching the show in the loosest sense. He is thinking about his children and what Bilbo had mentioned earlier.  
   
“Tilda?”  
   
“Yeah, da?”  
   
“What would you think if I had a girlfriend?”  
   
“Anna’s da has a girlfriend, but she also has a mama.”  
   
“A girlfriend could become your new mama.”  
   
“But I already have a mama…”  
   
“She wouldn’t take the place of your mama.”  
   
“Oh. Okay,” Tilda considers the question, “That’d be okay then.”  
   
“Okay,” Bard brushes her hand with his fingers. They sit there until Tilda falls asleep on his leg.

  
   
— — —

  
   
“Sigrid, is your brother up yet?” Bard shouts into the living room as he stuffs the graded and ungraded quizzes into his bag.  
   
“No.”  
   
“Can you get him up? We need to be out the door in 10 minutes. Tell him he can have Pop Tarts for breakfast.”  
   
“Why does Bain get to have Pop Tarts?” Tilda whines as she ties her shoe; her hair is sticking up in all directions. “Why can I have some?”  
   
“You can.”  
   
“BAIN!” Sigrid shouts from the bottom of the stairs. “DAD SAYS TO GET UP!”  
   
“Yay!” Tilda dashes in the direction of the kitchen with only one shoe on.   
   
Bard scoops up Tilda’s forgotten shoe and hair brush and follows her to the kitchen. “I could have done that, Sig. Go upstairs and get him.”  
   
Sigrid huffs, but starts up the stairs anyway.  
   
Bard rounds the corner into the kitchen to find Tilda standing on the countertop and staring into the cupboard. Bard puts the sweet breakfast foods on the top shelves to encourage his children to eat healthier breakfasts, oatmeal and the like are easy accessible. He picks her up and puts her on the floor despite her protests. “Not now, with your lunch. Now, put your other shoe on and get your backpack.” He pulls out two packages of Pop Tarts, he puts one in Tilda’s lunchbox.  
   
Bard walks back into the hall to see if Bain is up. Sigrid is standing by the front door, she is ready to leave, and reading a book. Unless necessary, she had been ignoring him all morning. Bain is slowly descending the stairs.   
   
“Here,” Bard pushes the package into Bain’s hands. “Brush your teeth, get dressed, and get back down here.”   
   
Bain turns around starts back up the stairs slowly as he opened up the foil package.   
   
“Quickly!” Bard adds. “You have five minutes.”  
   
He goes back into the kitchen to check on Tilda where she is stuffing her lunchbox into her backpack. He holds out her hair brush, “Can you get Sig to help you with your hair? I need to finish getting ready.”   
   
“But she always pulls my hair,” Tilda whines.  
   
“Please?”  
   
Tilda frowns, “Okay.”  
   
“Thank you. When you’re done get your stuff and get in the car so we can leave.” He does not wait for her response. He grabs his bag and takes the stairs two at a time.

Once he is in his office he quickly grabs his laptop and it’s charging cord. He pulls a black button down on over his T-shirt and tucks in in; he looks around for his belt for a brief moment before deciding that it is not worth his time right now. He slips his feet into his shoes and is briefly grateful that he got slip-ons this year. He pokes his head into the bathroom to make sure that his hair does not resemble Tilda’s. On one side his hair is sticking straight out from his head. He checks his watch. They should have been leaving the driveway a minute before. He looks at his reflection again. He cannot show up to his first class looking like this; he would normally have time before class to fix it, but he desperately needs coffee and a few moments of quiet before he has to face the classroom of 80 freshmen and tell them that their quizzes were not graded yet.

He wets his hands and runs them through his hair and combs it down before goes downstairs with his bag dangling from his hand. He looks into Bain’s room and allows himself a moment in relief when he sees that the room is empty. It is one less thing that he has to do this morning.

It is quiet downstairs and a quick walkthrough confirms that his children have gone out to the care and it appears that they all have their backpacks and lunches. But, when he climbs behind the wheel of his black SUV, he has to make sure: “Does everyone have everything? Homework? Lunches? Backpacks? If you’ve forgotten anything you’ll just have to do without, because I won’t have time to bring it to you.”

He sees all three heads nod in the rear view. “Alright. Off we go then.”  
 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a much changed version of old chapter one. Very little of the original chapter remains.

Tauriel tucks her book and notebook into her satchel and she locks her front door, turning the handle and tugging to make sure, and walks down the road. She pauses momentarily on top of the bridge to look at the water running through the canal, which runs next to her house. On a quiet night when the windows are open she can listen to the gentle lapping of the water. Today, however, the water, its gentle sounds, and the wildlife that she likes to watch on occasion fails to make her smile. Her night had been full of nightmares and she had wandered through her house — through the study, into the storage room, down the back stairs, into the kitchen, the bathroom, through the dining room, the hall, and the living room, and up the front stairs, back to her bedroom — checking to make sure that the doors and windows were locked along her way. The house quickly became stuffy and muggy with the windows shut on a early September night, and the small fans scattered throughout the house could only do so much. But her dreams and the paranoia that lingered long after they were over would not let her rest if a single window was open, if the perimeter was not secure.

She scowls at the water and continues on her way. Her canvas boots thud heavily in the old, uneven sidewalk. Outside the small neighborhood with its narrow, dead-end, and straight streets is a more commercial area. This is where the closest metro and bus stops are located. This is also where the closest coffee shop is found. This particular street is well developed with lost of small shops and cafes because of its proximity to the university. But, it is far enough away from the university to guarantee that the coffeeshop is not completely overrun by students in the early morning. There were often some upperclassmen in the morning, but there would not be long lines or crowded seating areas until much later in the day. There were other shops nearby, but its proximity to the metro stop and the second-floor seating area make it appealing.

The streets are fairly empty. Some cars slowly make their way out of the neighborhood to the main arteries of the city that are quickly filling with traffic. Some children in school uniforms are walking as well as they head to school. Their laughter echoes off the brick buildings.

———

Bard circles the parking lot hunting for a parking space. He curses inwardly. At this same time of day last semester parking had been easy to come by. But, this semester, parking was almost impossible unless he actually arrived 15 minutes early. When he finally finds a space, it is in the back corner of the back lot. It is as far as possible from his office. He pulls his bag from the passenger seat, locks the doors, and tucks his keys away.

He rolls his shoulders and looks up at the sky. It is gray and cloudy day. Bits of fog still obscure the distant buildings. He checks his watch and weighs his options: he can go to his office and finish grading papers or he can get coffee. Coffee wins out. He tightens the strap on his bag and walks away from campus. There are a few chain coffee shops on campus, but they are always crowded between classes. Before classes the lines can be over 50 people long. Even though all he wanted was a plain coffee he would have to wait as everybody else in the line ordered fancy, non-coffee beverages. Sometimes this entire process would take almost 30 minutes. He turns on his heel and starts walking towards the edge of campus where one of his favorite shops is located.

———

The bell jingles as Tauriel pushes the door open. After she orders her tea with cream and a sparing amount of sugar, she looks around for a place to sit. The few chairs and tables that are present on the first floor are taken by a few men in suits and sleepy, haggard looking graduate students that are surrounded by massive stacks of books.

She makes her way up the stairs in the back of the shop. The second floor has a great deal more seating. Tauriel picks a spot by the large windows that look out over the street. She places her cardboard cup on the table, sets her bag down and digs out her book, a notebook, and a pen. She opens her book, makes herself comfortable, and begins reading.

———

“The usual?” Susan the barista asks when Bard pushes open the door.

Bard smiles, “Yes, that would be wonderful.”

“How’s your morning going?” she asks as she poor a light roast into a large cup.

“It’s been hectic,” Bard says with amusement, “I _need_ that coffee today.”

Susie hands him his cup. “I can tell. Here, let me…” She reaches across the counter and fixes the collar of his shirt that is half crumpled and sticking up.

Bard lifts his chin to accept her help, “Thanks, Susan.”

“There you go,” she smiles, “Perfect.”

“If only that was the case,” Bard laughs. “See you later.”

Susan nods.

Bard looks around the first floor of the shop. His phone had not been plugged in overnight and it had been chirping at him for the past fifteen minutes. The only outlets were already in use by people who looked like they would not be moving any time soon.

As he climbs the stairs he balances his phone on top of his cup and adjusts his bag. He reaches in his bag to check for his charging cord; he had forgotten it many times before and had spend the day without his phone. He had been late for almost everything that day. He looks around when he reaches the landing. There are only a few outlets on this floor, but it looks like they are all taken as well. He starts to tuck the cord back in is bag as he scans the room’s outlets once more hoping that he missed one.

There is one open outlet, but someone is occupying that table even though they are not using the outlet. The woman’s auburn hair hangs across her face like a curtain as she bends over her book. Without lifting her head she reaches for her cup, takes a drink, and sets it back down. He approaches her. “Excuse me?”

———

Tauriel sets her cup down and flips the page in her book. She savors the light flavors of bergamot and citrus before she swallows.

“Excuse me?”

Tauriel jumps slightly, startled. “Yes?” She closes the book around her finger as she looks up.

The man brushes hair back from his face with his free hand. His other hand holds a cardboard cup, a charging cord is twined around his fingers, and his phone is precariously balancing on top of his steaming cup.

“Do you mind if I sit with you? I need to charge my phone and yours is the only outlet not in use…”

“Oh, yeah, that’s fine,” Tauriel answers. She moves her bag from the table to an empty chair and shifts her notebook as the man sits down in the chair diagonal from her.

He takes a seat with his bag falling onto the table heavily as he fumbles with his phone and the charging cord. A few errant pens roll out of the open pockets. Tauriel catches one before it falls off the table to clatter on the floor. She holds it out.

“Thank you,” he takes the pen and tucks it into his shirt pocket. He holds his hand out, “I’m Bard.”

“Tauriel,” Tauriel responds when she takes his hand. Her chest briefly tightens, and she is overly aware of the soft texture of Bard’s hands punctuated by rough callouses on his fingers.

“Pleasure.” Bard takes a drink of his coffee and starts to pull papers from his backpack.

Tauriel opens her book and goes back to reading—or tries to go back to reading. She cannot focus on the words; she keeps glancing over the top of the pages at the man—Bard—that sits across the table from her. He looks at the papers he had pulled from his back briefly before stuffing them back in his bag.

“How is that book? I’ve been meaning to read it.”

“Oh, this one?” Tauriel closes the book and looks at the cover considering how to describe it. “I haven’t finished it, but it is interesting.”

“Mind if I take a look at it?”

“Sure.” Tauriel tucks a scrap of paper between the pages to mark her place before handing it over. She watches as he cradles the hardcover book in the palm of his hand as he reads the synopsis inside the front cover. His hair falls from behind his ear and he bows his head to read.

Tauriel jumps when he closes the cover with a snap.

Bard holds the book out. “I will have to move this one to the top of my list. Maybe I’ll find time to read it over Christmas break.”

Tauriel asks as she takes the book and sets it on the table. She does not open it to return to her reading. “Are you a teacher?”

“I try to be.” Bard smiles. The corners of eyes crinkle in amusement.

Tauriel frowns in confusion.

“Sorry,” Bard backs up so that he can explain his amusement. “I’m a college professor, sometimes I don’t know how much I am actually teaching them except better lying skills.”

Tauriel nods. “What do you teach?”

“History. I end of teaching a lot of the introduction classes, because the students like me. But I am primarily interested in the ancient relationships between the Elves of Mirkwood and the Men in this area, but I don’t get to teach classes about that very often. They don’t have high enrollment. Students are far more interested in the Great Wars involving the southern countries.”

“I don’t remember much about history from my high school days. But I do remember those Great Wars.”

“Oh no…” Bard buries his face in his hands in exaggerated despair. “Those have been done to death. There are just _so many_ books about them. It is almost impossible to be well-versed in that area. I read somewhere that there has been on average one book published on that topic for the last 300 years.”

“That is a lot. But,” Tauriel pauses. “I guess that makes sense though. Bookstores always have a wide variety of books on the topics and there always seem to be different ones.”

“There’s just too much. Of course, its interesting. I’ll admit to reading some very good and enjoyable books about the wars, but the topic becomes exhausting very quickly.

But, now I’ve rambling about something that my parents and my children tell me is snooze worthy.” Bard reaches for his cup.

Tauriel’s thoughts freeze at his last sentence. Her fingers tighten around the book and her stomach sinks in disappointment, which surprises her. She clears he throat before she can speak, “Children?”

“Yes,” Bard shifts to dig his wallet out of front pocket, “I have three.” He fishes a photograph out and hands it over to Tauriel.

She hesitates before taking it. It is a family portrait against a brown backdrop. Bard’s hair is shorter, and he is wearing a grey argyle sweater. He’s smiling, but he looks distracted and the smile does not quite reach his eyes. A little blonde girl in a blue dress sits on Bard’s lap and one of his arms is loosely wrapped around her waist. Bard’s other hand rests on the should of a boy who stands to Bard’s left; the boy looks like a much younger version of his father. In front of the boy is a petulant looking girl in a burgundy top with a frown on her face.

“This picture is a few years old. Tilda,” Bard points at the smallest child, “is 6 now, she started Kindergarten this past August. I keep meaning to get a new one done, maybe this year as a Christmas card.”

Tauriel hands the photograph back. “Your wife… uh… did she take the photograph?”

Bard does not answer right away. He carefully puts the photograph back in its small, plastic sleeve and puts his wallet back in his pocket. He takes a drink of coffee and clasps his hands in front of him on the table before he starts to answer. “My wife,” he looks up from his hands, “My wife passed away several years ago.”

Tauriel meets his gaze and shifts uncomfortably—unsure of what to say. “I’m sorry.”

Bard sits back and picks up his cup. “It’s okay. It was a long time ago.” He smiles. “It would’ve been nice to have help before though they were all in school.”

“I imagine.”

“Do you have any family?” Bard changes the topic.

“My parents died in a car accident when I was very young. I grew up with my cousin and my uncle. He’s got other family, so they became mine.”

Bard starts to answer, but his phone beeps and interrupts him. “I have to go if I’m going to make it to my first class on time. If I’m late I have no idea how long some of them will wait.” He stands.

“Oh. Okay.”

Bard swallows and looks towards the door. “Would you care to continue this conversation at another time? Maybe over drinks or dinner?” He shifts on his feet.

Tauriel starts. “Oh. Yeah. Sure,” she smiles. “that’d be nice.”

“I’ll need your number.”

“Right, sorry,” Tauriel digs through her bag and pulls out a notebook. She scribbles her number on the corner of a page, tears it off, and hands it to Bard.

Bard glances at the piece of paper before carefully folding the paper in half and tucking it into his pocket. He smiles, “I’ll text you later then.”

“Sounds good.”

With that Bard turns and walks away. Tauriel watches him until he disappears from view down the stairs. She picks up her cup and wills her heart rate to slow down, because her hands are shaking slightly.


	4. Chapter 4

Tauriel peeks her head around corner of Lisle’s cubicle. “Do you need anything before I go?”

Lisle glances at her watch. “It’s only 3:30? The last buses haven’t left yet.”

“I’ve stayed late the past several days fixing the several of the classrooms’ netbooks. It’s Friday and nothing has been turned in to me that needs to be fixed.”

“I can’t think of anything that we need,” Lisle smiles. “Some of the other ladies’ computers have been running slow lately, but it’s not a pressing issue. It can wait until at least next Monday if not several Monday’s from now.”

“Sounds like a plan. But the thing that would definitely fix that problem would be new computers.”

“Tell that to the school board. We’ll have these computers until they won’t turn on anymore, or until we’re retired, whichever comes first.”

Tauriel rolls her eyes. “The students will be telecommuting by then too.”

Lisle laughs. “I’ll see you on Monday,” she lifts her hand in farewell.

“See you.” Tauriel all but runs out of the office. 

It is always a bit disconcerting to step out into the sunlight after 8 hours in the windowless office. It always reminded her of watching an early movie and stepping outside and expecting it to be much later than it actually is. Students are milling around waiting for their busses or their parents, or just generally loitering. Some cast her an odd glance like they cannot remember where they know her from. Tauriel ignores them and walks in the direction of the Metro station to take the Green line home.

She’s sitting on the awkward, tiny benches when her phones buzzes.

_ // When do you get off work? // - _ Legolas

_ // I’m off now. Why? // _

_ // Wine? //  _ -Legolas

_ // It’s Friday. We talked about going out on Saturday. // _

_ // But it  _ feels _ like Saturday. // _

Tauriel rolls her eyes. She can almost hear Legolas’ petulant tone through the text. _ // Fine. // _

_ // I can pick you up. // - _ Legolas

_ // Where are you? I’m waiting on the Metro that’s due to arrive in 3m. // _

_ // I’m not that close. I’ll just meet you at your place.  _ :) _ // - _ Legolas

_ // See you in a bit. // _

The train arrives and Tauriel tucks her phone into her pocket and climbs aboard. She pulls out her book as soon as she sits down. She starts to read at the top of the page, but stops when she remembers Bard interrupting her. She tugs out her phone to check for any messages from unknown numbers before remembering that there is no service underground and she chides herself because she would have noticed any new messages when she was texting Legolas.

Legolas is sitting on her stoep when she walks up. 

“Where were you that you got here so quickly?” Tauriel asks as she unlocks the door.

“I was holding office hours for the class I’m the TA for.”

“And that left you with an overwhelming desire to drink?”

“Yes.”

Tauriel frowns and drops her keys on the table as she toes off her boots. “Why?”

“I don’t even want to talk about it. I just want to forget that it happened. Sometimes I think that some people somehow graduate from high school with their fingers in their ears and their eyes shut.” Legolas flops onto her couch and props his feet up on her coffee table.

“Make yourself at home. I’m going to go change.” 

Legolas nods, but he already has the television on and his shoes off. He could have been sitting there all day from from the look of him. 

Tauriel goes up the front stairs and into the front bedroom. 

One of the selling points for this house was the large closets, but they remained mostly empty. Years in uniform, private school and the guard, and her own lack of interest in fashion had left her with limited and utilitarian clothing tastes. Her work clothes had fallen into a unofficial uniform of grey cargo khakis, a white shirt, either short sleeved or long sleeved, and a variety of blue sweaters and cardigans for colder months. 

In high school her leisure clothes had mostly consisted of sports t-shirts, school hoodies, sweatpants, and the odd pair of jeans. The sports t-shirts were replaced with Guard shirts after high school and those still make up a majority of her wardrobe. 

She returned downstairs in a gray Guard shirt and a pair of cut off sweatpants.

“So what are your plans?” Tauriel sits down in the armchair and pulls her legs up. 

Legolas ignores her question. “What are you wearing?” 

“This is what I wear when I’m not working,” Tauriel says defensively. 

“I was planning on dragging you out later to buy supplies for a party.”

Tauriel frowns. “It’s not even 4:30.”

“That’s why I said later,” Legolas explains. “A party that starts this early is lame. Plus having it start later gives us time to get some supplies — why do you only have vegetables in your kitchen? — and it also gives you time to put on some fancier pants at the very least.”

“Yep, fancy pants, that’s all I need,” Tauriel rolls her eyes, picks up the remote and turns the television on and starts flipping idly through the channels.

“What were you planning on doing with the weekend then, Tau?” Legolas asks. “Is it just going to be you and the TV?”

“This is what I always do on the weekends and it seems to work out just fine for me.” Tauriel does not look at Legolas.

“This is exactly why we’re going to have a party.”

“Who exactly are you inviting to this party? My lease has clauses about noise after 9pm and I hate moving.”

Legolas rolls his eyes. “I’m not planning on throwing a rager like Mayor Moneybag’s kid did in high school. Besides I don’t think I know that many people.”

“That does not answer my question.”

“Probably just you, me, the Durins, and a few people that I know from the university. There will be no more than 15 people at the very most.”

“Hmph.” Tauriel looks away from her cousin and out the bay window that faces the street. 

**-m-**

Tauriel had dug a pair of jeans out of the back of her closet and gone to the shops with Legolas to get chips and drinks. He had texted a few people, but it had ended up just being the four of them sitting around Tauriel’s coffee table playing poker. The table was littered with poker chips, potato chips, discarded bottles. In the center of the whole mess was a small pile of cellphones. Kili kept texting someone and despite constant teasing from Fili he had not stopped. It kept slowing the game down; Kili’s turns would take  _ forever _ . To get him to mute his phone and put it in the middle of the table they all had to do the same. 

“So, how is Alyss doing?” Fili asks to fill a lull in the conversation.

“Fine, I assume. We called it off,” Legolas says distractedly.

“Why?” Kili asks around a mouthful of chips.

Fili smacks his brother’s arm goodnaturedly. “Don’t talk with your mouth full. Animal.” He mutters the last part.

Kili swallows. “We hadn’t heard about any breakup and usually Mum is right on all the gossip like that and she passes it on to us whether we like it or not.”

“It just wasn’t working out.” Legolas peeks at his card after Fili lays down the turn. “It was mutual and undramatic.

“But I thought you liked her?” 

“I do — I did — but she’s left of law school in Minas Tirith and neither of us wants to deal with a long term relationship. When she’s home again we’ll see what happens, but for the time being we’re each just going to be single.”

“That sounds pretty stupid,” Kili mumbles. 

Legolas frowns.

“Hey, Ki, why don’t we talk about your love life?” Fili asks sharply giving his brother a quick glance.

Kili blushes ferociously and steals a look at Tauriel. “It’s fine,” he mumbles and reaches for another handful of chips.

“Oh really?” Fili grabs the bag before Kili can reach it. He place it in his lap, stretches his legs out and relaxes. “So you’ve gotten over your unfortunate crush on Tauriel here?” He gestures with a chip.

Kili blushes furiously with even the tips of his ears turning pink. 

“Must we always drag that unfortunate information out into the open?” Tauriel asks as she rises and heads into the small kitchen.

Fili laughs. “If dear Killian here didn’t blush so easily it would not be necessary.”

Tauriel grabs another bag of chips from the cupboard along with a bowl and some napkins. From the kitchen she can only hear Kili muttering something, a clattering, and Fili laughing even louder. Kili is scowling and grumbling when she reenters the room. She hands the new bag of chips and the bowl to Kili and she is just sitting down again when the pile of phones vibrates angrily.

“Did you forgot the rules, Ki?”

“For fuck’s sake,” Kili grumbles and reaches for his phone.

Legolas snatches it out from under Kili’s grasping fingers.

Legolas swipes over the screen quickly. “No new texts …”

“How do you know my passcode? I just changed it!” Kili crosses his arms.

“And unless your new girlfriend’s name is  Words with Friends 2  then there is nothing interesting here. And none of these notifications are new,” Legolas teases before passing the phone to Kili.

Legolas picks up his own phone. “Nope. It’s on airplane mode.” He looks at Fili.

“Mine died hours ago. There is no way it was mine.”

Tauriel frowns. But before she can take her phone from the middle of the table it is already in Legolas’ hand and he has already unlocked it. 

“Why do you have everyone’s passcodes?” Fili asks.   


“State secret,” Legolas responds automatically. 

In an attempt to ignore Legolas and his snooping Tauriel begins to straighten the messy table. She neatens her small stacks of chips and starts gather up the empty bottles that litter the table and the other flat surfaces in the dining area. 

“You’re the one who broke the rules,” Legolas states as she places all of the bottles in the recycling bin. 

Tauriel shrugs and leans against the counter. “No one ever messages me. I must have forgotten.”

“Well, I hate to break it to you, but you’re not quite as unpopular as all that.”

Tauriel rolls her eyes when he stops. He has always been like this. You have to ask to have things elaborated upon. “What do you mean?” Fili and Kili have gone back to discussing Kili’s love life. He is once again denying something, but Tauriel ignores them.

“You have a text.”

“If it’s from Ada it doesn’t count.”

“It counts.”

Tauriel holds out her hand in a silent demand for her phone. “Who’s it from?”

“No one that is currently in your contacts.” Legolas continues scrolling and ignores her hand. “This is just sad. You get more texts from Ada and the Post Office then you do from anyone else.” 

“Obviously you should text me more.” She nudges his arm with her hand.

“Or you could text this guy back when he responds.”   


“Who? And responds to what?”

Legolas hands the phone back. “Whoever Bard is and the message I just send to him.”


	5. Chapter 5

“When’s Uncle Bilbo going to be here?” Bain whines using the affectionate titled bestowed upon their father’s close friends. 

“He’ll be here soon,” Bard assures his son. “They probably just got stopped by a train.”

“But we’ll be _late,_ ” Bain moans dramatically as he flops onto the bench inside the door. 

“You won’t be that late,” Bard says glancing at the clock. “Remember last week when we got stopped by that train that had over a hundred cars?”

Bain glares at his father and does not respond. He begins banging the heels of his dirty cleats against the bench.

Bard opens his mouth to say something, but closes it again. He scoops up the inordinate number of dirty socks that had accumulated inside the front door—oddly, most of them are without matches; their pairs are inevitably underneath beds and other bits of furniture—and mutters under his breath, “Pick your battles, Bard, pick your battles.”

On his way to the laundry room he pauses and looks into the living room where Sigrid is watching some fashion design contest show and Tilda is stretched out on her stomach with her dolls and all the doll furniture that her grandmother had made for her on her last birthday. Everything is quiet, for now. If he has learned nothing else in his years as a parent, he has learned that it can go from calm to a hurricane in moments. Sometimes all it takes is for one to look at the other funny and suddenly there will be a WWE match in his living room.

After discarding the errant socks he walks back down the hall to his office to work on some lectures before the eye of the storm passes. He has just sat down at his desk and fired up the word processing program when—

“Dad!!!”

“Yes, Bain?”

“I’m going to be late!” Bain shouts.

“Come into the office,” Bard shouts back.

“Why?”

“Just do it!”

Bain wanders into the office with a scowl on his face.

“Yes, Bain?” Bard asks at a reasonable volume.

“I’m going to be late.”

Bard folds his hands on his desk and looks at his son. “And what do you want me to do about it?”

“Can’t you just drive me?”

“You’ll be just as late if I drive you, Bain. Maybe even later because we’ll have to get your sisters ready and into the car as well. And then Bilbo will have come out of his way for nothing. Besides, I have work I need to do.”

“You could just text him so he wouldn’t come here,” Bain grumbles quietly.

“I could. But he wouldn’t see it until he got here. And then we would have wasted his time, and you would still be late.”

Bain frowns and does not say anything for a few moments. “Can you call him to see why he’s late.”

Bard rubs his forehead firmly. “It won’t make a difference, Bain. Bilbo does _not_ answer his phone while driving. Ever.”

“But it’s important…” Bain whines.

“That doesn’t matter,” Bard places his hand solidly on the desk. “Now go wait in the hall for Bilbo. And I don’t want to hear anything else about this. Being late to a couple practices or even missing a single practice is not the end of the world.”

“If my mum were here she’d drive me!” Bain darts from the room before his father can respond.

Bard grits his teeth, but the anger as his son passes quickly. He drops his face into his hands and digs his fingers into his eyes. His moment of self-pity is interrupted by the front door opening with a bang and, with no doubt, denting the wall.

“Uncle Biblo’s here. I’m leaving!” Bain shouts. “Come on,” he says at a much more reasonable volume.

“I need to talk to your dad for a minute.”

“But we have to to _go_!”

“Go get in the car with Frodo. Then we’ll be all ready to go after I have a word with your dad, kiddo.”

Bain groans loudly and slams the door on the way out.

“Hey, Bard!”

“In the office.” Bard lifts his head from his hands.

Bilbo leans against the door jamb and stuffs his hands into the pockets of his neatly pressed khakis. His hair is a bit disheveled. “Sorry that we’re late. There was a meltdown over the available clean pairs of shorts. The pair that was wanted was dirty, of course.”

“It’s not a big deal,” Bard says, “but, it was for Bain.”

“I’ll apologize.”

“You don’t have to. He needs to apologize for some things that he said.” 

Bilbo nods. He glances at his watch. “Well… I better get going to keep the little beasts happy.”

Bard smiles ruefully and nods.

“I’ll pick up some pizzas and we’ll have some dinner, yeah?”

“Sounds good.”

Bilbo is already in the hall when he says, “See you in a couple hours!”

 

————

 

“The two of you get some sleep!” Bard says as he shuts Bain’s door. He hears both boys giggle and immediately start whispering the second the door clicks shut. He rolls his eyes and checks on Tilda and Sigrid—Tilda is sleeping and Sigrid is curled up with a book, “Don’t stay up too late.” Sigrid does not respond. She just nods and turns a page. He smiles sadly; she is so much like her mother sometimes.

The sounds of the boys’ giggling and “whispers” recedes as he reaches the bottom of the stairs. He drops onto the couch. He puts his feet up on the coffee table and pushes the empty pizza box to the edge. He drops his head back and groans. “That was good. Thanks for picking it up.”

Biblo nods from his position in the reclined armchair. “It’s no problem. I didn’t feel like making dinner.”

“Do you want anything? Water? Pop? A beer?”

“A beer sounds good.”

Bard heaves himself up from the couch and walks to the kitchen, his footsteps heavy. He grabs two of _Shire’s Best_ from the top shelf and makes his way back to the living room; turning the lights off as he goes. He hands a bottle and an opener to Bilbo and sits back down on the couch. “Are you going to try and go home tonight? Or do you want to stay here?”

“I’ll stay here. That way you won’t have to worry about bringing Frodo back.”

“It’d be no problem, plus he keeps Bain occupied. And he’s occupied he’s not moody.”

Bilbo’s lips twitch upward. “Ah. I know the moodiness. Frodo’s getting there as well. Sometimes I just have to call him a little bastard when his back is turned.”

Bard laughs. “I’ll have to try that. It’ll probably make me feel better.”

“It makes me feel better, especially if he says something insensitive or rude.”

“I could have used that earlier today. You would not believe what Bain said to me when I wouldn’t drive him. I calmly explained why it wouldn’t make sense for me to drive him. I told him that we would be just as late if not later if I drove him.”

“Ooohh. Bad move my friend,” Bilbo says taking a drink from his bottle. “Bad move. I bet that didn’t go over very well.”

“Oh, it did not,” Bard agrees. “He said that his mother would have driven him if she were here.”

“Ouch,” Biblo whistles.

“Yeah.” Bard frowns and starts peeling at the paper of his drink.

“Thankfully Frodo hasn’t thrown that one at me yet. And, hopefully, he never will, because I’m just his uncle.”

Bard purses his lips and nods his head. “I hope you never have to experience that either.”

“You’re not taking him seriously though, are you?” Bilbo asks. “It’s like when we call them assholes behind their backs. We’re doing it because we’re angry not because we actually mean it. We’re just old enough to do it behind their backs, but they can’t hide it yet. It just comes out and hurts people.”

Bard takes a long drink. “You’re probably right.”

“Like usual,” Bilbo smiles.

Bard smiles back, “Ass.”

They sit in silence for a few minutes. The sounds of the television on low volumes fills the silence between them.

“But…”

“Oh, no…” Bilbo groans dramatically.

Bard flicks a bit of balled up label at Bilbo. “ _But_ it did make me rethink some things.”

“Like what?”

“Remember what we talked about a while back?” Bilbo makes a circular gesture with his hand. “You were trying to get me to start dating.”

“Yes, that one. So? Did you ask someone out?”

“No,” Bard says. “I was thinking about it. I even asked Tilda what she would think about it. She seemed open to it, but in practice it could be the opposite. I won’t know until it happens.”

Bilbo nods, “True. That doesn’t seem like ‘rethinking’ though.”

Bard rolls his eyes. “This thing with Bain made me rethink it. I don’t want them to think I’m trying to replace their mother. And I don’t want to bring some poor woman into burgeoning teenage angst. If I want until they’re all older it won’t be an issue. They’ll understand that whomever I start dating isn’t trying to replace their mum.”

“You can’t let them rule your life like that. Besides, if you did find someone they could help keep you sane during the teenage angst.

“If they want to claim that you’re replacing their mother their going to do it either way. Right now they’ll say that their mother would do things, but if you did find someone else they’ll use the same thing. And they’ll tell her that she’s not their mother so she can’t tell them what they can and cannot do. Bain’s already is doing that a bit. But you’d have someone else on your side.”

Bard frowns and sits quietly. He finishes off his drink and continues to peel the label. He rubs his face. “I guess. I even asked someone for their number today, but I think that she’s a bit young to be dragged into this.”

Bilbo raises his eyebrows. He stretches out a foot to push Bard’s feet. “Tell.”

“There’s nothing to tell,” Bard insists.

“Mmhmm…” Bilbo hums skeptically.

“I met her at my coffee shop. We chatted. I asked for her number. She gave it to me.” Bard digs the crumpled piece of paper out of his pocket. He had been fidgeting with it all day and debating about whether or not he should call or text.

“Why did you ask for the number,” Bilbo gestures towards the scrap of paper.

“She was reading a book that I had been meaning to read.”

Bard starts to stuff the paper back into his pocket, but pauses when Bilbo says, “Text her.” Bard starts to speak, but Bilbo interrupts. “No ‘buts’. Text her. Go on a date. Make a connection. If it works, good. If it doesn’t work, that’s also fine. The last time you went on a first date had to have been nearly two decades ago.”

“Oh Illuvatar, don’t say it like that. It makes me feel old.” Bard sinks further into couch cushions.

“If you’re old, then I’m ancient,” Bilbo quips. “Text her.”

“Fine,” Bard grumbles. He feels around in the cushions for his errant phone. He opens a new message and types in Tauriel’s number and stops, staring at the blinking cursor. “I don’t even know what to say.”

“Good Eru, man,” Bilbo sighs. “Hello, your name, and reminding her who you are and where you met is all you really need to send. Forget one of those and you may have to answer a series of questions before you can even really start talking to one another.”

“Right.” Bard stares at the screen.

Both men turn and look at the doorway to the hallway. The giggling from upstairs has increased in volume. “Your turn,” Bard says, looking pointedly at Bilbo. “I was up there last.”

Bilbo climbs out of the armchair and Bard listens to his footsteps as he climbs the creaking stairs.

_// Hello, Tauriel. This is Bard, from the coffee shop this morning. Just wanted to say hello and see if you were interested in a drink where we could talk more about that book. - Bard //_

_// Hey! I’m_ definitely _still interested! -t //_

Another message follows a few moments later before Bard has a chance to type a response.

_// Sorry. That was my cousin. But I am still interested in a drink or tea. -t //_

Bard smiles and taps out a response. He does not notice when Bilbo returns and stand in the doorway smiling at Bard’s smile.


End file.
